<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Let Me In, My Dear by Ghostwriter98</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436704">Let Me In, My Dear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostwriter98/pseuds/Ghostwriter98'>Ghostwriter98</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Person Suit Most Well Tailored [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alana Bloom as Will's psychiatrist, Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, Demon Hannibal, Hannibal wants in Will LITERALLY, Incarcerated Will, M/M, Possession, Someone Help Will Graham, which brings me to my next tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:08:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25436704</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghostwriter98/pseuds/Ghostwriter98</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham receives a routine visit from his psychiatrist, Alana Bloom, while imprisoned in the BSHCI. Something isn’t quite right about her though. It might have something to do with the suits and blood red lipstick and the fact she calls him “dear, Will”. Is it really her or is it someone (or something else) entirely?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham &amp; Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham and Alana Bloom (kinda?), Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Person Suit Most Well Tailored [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>199</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let Me In, My Dear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Some minor changes I made. Alana is Will's psychiatrist and always has been. Will and Hannibal met in different circumstances which are mentioned within the fic. Will is still imprisoned for Hannibal's crimes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They kept Will in an isolated part of the BSHCI. He was too dangerous to be around the other patients. He’d caused quite the hysteria when he was first moved into the hospital, his cell bracketed by Abel Gideon and Miggs. Within the week, Miggs had choked to death on his own tongue and Abel had stabbed a nurse. When they asked Abel why he had done it, he had said simply because isolation was better than being next to Will Graham when <em>He</em> came back for him. Nobody had to ask who Abel had meant by <em>He</em>. Will had talked himself blue to anyone who would listen about his personal demon. His psychiatrist, a lovely kind faced woman who went by the name of Alana Bloom, was an expert on the subject.</p><p>When her fortnightly psychiatric visits became less and less frequent, Will began to fear that she had turned her back on him as so many others had when they realized how fervently he clung to his version of events. His so called “supernatural delusions” according to Chilton. Will began asking Chilton about Alana but the man always dodged the subject with what he must have believed was subtle coolness but in reality was obvious as fuck. One time he’d even had the audacity to say, “Alana Bloom, the name doesn’t sound familiar to me.” Even though Chilton had personally escorted her to Will’s cell every session they had, prying her for details on Will’s psyche like an oily eel.</p><p>Finally, a guard named Matthew came around to Will’s pestering, admitting, “She’s sick with something real bad. The hospital’s running some tests.”</p><p>Will hoped she’d get better soon. He needed<em>, needed</em> with a terrible ache to convince someone who wasn’t dubbed insane that he hadn’t lost his mind. Some days he felt like it was all a dream; a terrible, horrific nightmare that had somehow crept out of his head and manifested into reality. On his worse days, Will really did believe he did it. That his work broke him, and he turned into a murderous sleep walking serial killer. Homicidal somnambulism, they called it. A real mouthful. It must take up a lot of room on his file. Will liked to imagine Chilton painstakingly writing it down in pencil, getting something wrong and having to erase it and try again and again, frustration arising with each attempt.</p><p>Will enjoyed imagining Chilton irritated. It was better than focusing on himself and on the hurt. Will could deal with the hurt though. It was the guilt that killed him and the doubt. When they became too much to bear, Will uncovered his arm and made himself feel along the looping HL mark there. That always reminded him that the killings hadn’t been his at all. It was all his demon’s fault.</p><p>Hannibal had made him do it.</p><p> </p><p>----:----</p><p> </p><p>Will felt a grin break across his face when a week later he finally heard the familiar click, click, click of heels on the polished floors. Alana stepped in front of his cell wearing a black and white striped suit paired with blood red lipstick. The look was formal and stylish, nothing like her usual casual work dresses with their floral prints.</p><p>“Hello, Will,” Alana greeted softly.</p><p>“You’re okay,” Will said and his relief was a palpable thing.</p><p>“Indeed I am. I’ve come back for you.”</p><p>There was something about the wording of that phrase that sounded odd to Will. The cadence somewhat off, but the voice, the voice was something he’d missed dearly.</p><p>“You came off sick leave early for me? Do you,” Will hesitated, heart jack rabbiting in his chest at the mere thought. “Do you believe me now?”</p><p>“I have always believed in you, Will.”</p><p>Will lurched forwards against the cell’s bars and gripped them tightly. He felt hope climb up his throat and he forced himself to swallow it back down. Alana, lovely, kind, wonderful Alana, stepped closer, closer than she’d been in the six months he’d been admitted. She touched his hand and curled her palm around his and something inside Will's chest warmed. She was listening. Finally, finally listening.</p><p>“You know now. You know I’m not crazy. It was a demon. He possessed me. I’d never hurt people. God, I’d never <em>eat</em> people.” Will shook his head, voice strained with desperation. “It was Han— the<em> thing</em> in me.”</p><p>“Really, Will. Are we no longer on a first name basis?” She smiled and her eyes were cold in her face. “<em>Thing</em> is rather rude. Especially when I came all this way to free you.”</p><p>Will lurched backwards, half crawling, half stumbling for his bed.</p><p>“What did you do to her?” But the question was redundant because Will didn’t have to ask, he already knew. He wondered if Alana was scrabbling at the back of Hannibal’s consciousness, pounding in anger and frustration because she couldn’t do anything. A prisoner in her own body. Just like he had been. Just like he would be again if he let Hannibal get too close.</p><p>Alana stepped towards him. The click no longer sounded like high heels but rather the hooves of a great beast.</p><p>“Get back! Get away!” Will threatened. He fumbled at his neck, but his cross was gone. Chilton had taken it from him, worried he’d try to hang himself with it. A wave of dread filled his stomach<em>. It’s for protection</em>, Will had said. <em>Protection</em>. But they hadn’t believed him.</p><p>“Oh, my dear, Will,” Alana sighed fondly. “How I have missed you.” She patted at her hips with disgust. “This body is nothing compared to yours. It fits like an ill tailored suit. You, on the other hand, are something akin to a second skin.” She hummed. “That’s why you have always been my favourite.”</p><p>She breathed deeply then. Her eyes closed as she savored the scent of fear in the air. When they reopened, they had bled black. “Finally rid of that atrocious aftershave, I see.”</p><p>“Chilton!” Will cried out, hoping, praying the man was listening in. He’d never thought he’d turn to Frederick for help in all his life but these were extenuating circumstances. “Chilton!” </p><p>“Shh,” Alana hushed with a wink. “He’s sleeping.”</p><p>Will could read between the lines though. He was dead, for sure, because he had helped separate them. Hannibal didn’t take kindly to those that tried to separate him from his vessels. Bedelia was a prime example of that fact. God, Bedelia. Her bloated corpse came to mind. Swollen and purple and huge.</p><p>Will bit his lip to hold back a whimper. She was the only one who could protect him and she was gone now.</p><p>Alana approached his cell, casually and at great leisure, humming a tune older than man itself. Her fingernails elongated until they were long and sharp as knives. They slipped into the lock and twisted until it clicked open.</p><p>“Oh no,” Will said as he pressed himself back to the far wall of his cell. “Oh hell no.”</p><p>The lights started to flicker then. Will reached for his bed, feeling with his hands for a makeshift weapon, not daring to take his eyes off the demon. In a blink, Alana’s face was gone and in its place was Hannibals.</p><p>“Will,” he crooned. “Come here, my dear. Come here and let me in.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>